


the first step to standing up and saying "I have value" is to stand

by Damned_Writers



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Internalised ableism, Julian Bashir's childhood is A Mood, Missing Scene, Neuroatypical Julian Bashir, Post-Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, just bros sharing trauma, meltdowns and panic attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22435741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damned_Writers/pseuds/Damned_Writers
Summary: Post-imprisonment and outed as an augment, Julian's not handling things quite as well as he thought he was.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 137





	the first step to standing up and saying "I have value" is to stand

Julian was feeling it again. It was weird, he thought from some outside part of himself looking in. It was definitely weird. The doctor part, disconnecting from the rest of his body, added that it was downright worrying. If he'd been anyone else he might've diagnosed it as- no, it wasn't. It was just weird. That's all it was. And he'd get over it, just like he had in the past. Being around his parents always brought weird emotions and reactions and this time had been more stressful than most, what with it being on the tail-end of being imprisoned for several months and replaced with a changeling and almost getting kicked out of starfleet and off the station and everyone knowing about his – he grimaced – _augmentation._

There it was again – feeling weird. Almost... floating... but not in a good way. His arms and legs were tingling, but it was as though his body was a rock, while his brain hung on some tether above the rest of him. He'd definitely felt this before, but never this intensely. Maybe. There was a lot about growing up that was vague to him. The _before_ Adigeon Prime was such a blur of unpleasant memories, of not understanding but understanding too well, of rocking forwards and backwards with his eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, punching himself on the arms and head, banging himself against the wall when it was all too much, of being aware that he wasn't... good enough. Normal (the doctor part of him made a mental note that there was a paper to be written about the biases that humanity had yet to outgrow).

Well, he wasn't normal after either, but like he'd said, there was no stigma in success. As long as he stayed successful, as long as he remained a good doctor, as long as he excelled, as long as he didn't complain, as long as he proved he had worth- the feeling was getting more uncomfortable. The floating. The tingling. The disconnectedness. His head was squeezing now too, doctor, what would you call these symptoms? He giggled for a second, but it was a wrong sound, his body felt wrong, he felt... wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong _wrong-_ he realised suddenly he was saying it out loud, like a litany in quick succession: “Wrongwrongwrongwrongwrongwrong-” he breathed it, craving some form of the rhythm, trying to focus on his own voice, but the word was- he was wrong. He was wrong. He was wrong. He was wrong. He was-

Crying. He was crying now, some intense image of himself as a child, head in hands, squeezing the bottom of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars - was this before or after? During? He wasn't sure, he'd cried a lot. He'd still cried afterwards, he'd just felt more clear-headed in some way about some key things that all of his attention dove to like a drowning boy finding an oasis in a desert of confusion, and it had been acceptable that he devote all of himself and no longer need to focus on trying to be social, or earth history, or any of the things that had seemingly mattered to his parents and teachers before, because he'd found something he was great at.

And he'd gotten better at hiding the rest, so his parents weren't disappointed, so his classmates didn't tease him, so his teachers didn't suggest he might be better off in another class, so he didn't have to learn any of the boring or confusing things any more, so he didn't get suspected of lying, so he didn't get arrested, so he didn't become valedictorian, so he didn't get any friends regardless of what he did or didn't do or say, he was squeezing his palms into his eyes now, seeing stars, sobbing, he was still wrong, inhuman somehow, interchangeable, the changeling had done a better job of being him than he did, fuck – the half-finished _hologram_ had done a better job of it, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe- “I'mwrongI'mwrongI'mwrong-”

“Julian? Julian, are you – Christ, what's the matter-”

Oh no, the doctor-him said. Someone's seen you now. Someone's seen you and it's obvious that you're having a meltdown. When was the last someone saw that, aged six? It was during Adigeon Prime, wasn't it. Didn't end up that well for you that time, so stop maybe. Was that really how doctor-him spoke? He was kinder, wasn't he, when he was talking to his patients? Was he getting that wrong too? Useless, fucking useless, fucking-

“Julian, look at me, please-” Miles O'brien, go away, go away, go away- he was saying it out loud, wasn't he? “Go away, go away, go away-”

“Julian. Julian, I'm not going anywhere. I'll just... sit here. Until you can look at me. Just. Don't hurt yourself again, okay?”

Hurt himself? When had he...? Had he been hitting himself again? He'd done that before, during the weird feelings that weren't meltdowns or panic attacks, just... moments he had to pull himself together from. He was Doctor Julian Bashir, best and brightest of Starfleet, a prodigy in the medical field, forever branded as a fake, wrong- _stop, stop-_ Miles took his hand, which meant he was still hitting himself. He yanked it back from him. Touching another human being right now felt like violence. He jammed his hands hard against his eyes again, willing the physical sensation to bring him back.

He'd always hated the weird feelings. Hated how they exposed him. Excitement equalled rolling on the balls of his feet, squeezing his eyes shut, talking excessively, aware that he would eventually be told to shut up or in extreme cases flapping his hands about. Anger was better somehow. He was allowed to be angry as long as he was angry about the right things, at the right people, and he usually was. Angry at injustice, bad medicine practice, people who hurt other people...

This was... this was the worst. Like the extremity of emotions had been turned against him. He bet the changeling didn't do that. Didn't talk too much or make people try to get rid of him. The changeling was more likeable. Miles had said that. Miles was... was he still there? He didn't want to look. He wanted to scream. He couldn't do that. That was unacceptable behaviour. _Jules_ had screamed when he was feeling like this, but Julian wasn't allowed to.

“I'm not going anywhere,” Miles repeated. His own little litany to counter Julian's. It was penetrating through him now. I'm not going anywh- the changeling was- I'm not – the- I'm not going any- the changeling was more likea- I'm wrong- I'm not going anywhere - I'm – the changeling – I'm not going anywhere, I'm not going anywhere- I'm not – the changeling – I'm not going anywhere.

He was feeling it subside. Not the crying. The crying was still happening. But the detachment. The floatiness. The tingling. It was being replaced by cold. He was shivering. He stopped pressing quite so hard against his eyes, settling for just covering his face for a bit. Miles was still repeating himself. It was an anchor, better than the weight of his own body which still seemed nebulously attached to him at best. He dared to start wiping at his cheeks, eyes blinking back to reality. He was in the darkest corner of his office, legs folded, knees under his chin. He'd forgotten that he'd retreated there when it had first started. Corners were hidden, protective, and solid. That was from his childhood too.

Miles handed him a hanky that he procured out of apparent thin air. He took it, unable to say thank you at the moment. It would be a moment before speech returned. Getting rid of the tears and the snot was a good start though.

The weirdness lingered, waiting for an excuse to overtake him again. He focused on the feeling of the handkerchief on his face. Maybe... maybe he could make himself stand, wash his hands, pretend nothing had happened. Miles would probably prefer that too, go back to the status quo of their friendship. Just never talk about this again. A momentary slip, nothing more. Julian was _not_ a burden. Annoying sometimes, yes, but not a burden. If he could make Miles understand that then maybe this wouldn't change anything between them.

Miles cleared his throat. Oh no, he needed to stand before he said something, something that would change everything. Something that would hurt him, that he'd have to pretend to forget. His legs weren't working yet. The weirdness was ready to pounce back. Fuck. Fuck fuck-

“Julian, it's okay.”

Unexpected.

Miles continued: “Honestly I was surprised when you came back and didn't seem affected at all. But then, I've done that too. Pretended like everything was fine. Doesn't matter what... _if_ the Jem Haddar did anything to you, it's the imprisonment, it's... it's bad enough. I know. Guessing your parents and all this,” he waved a hand vaguely, “-didn't help much, but it would've come out, trust me.” He cleared his throat. “I'm not... a counsellor. But you can talk to me. You _should_ talk to a counsellor, but you can also talk to me. Is what I'm trying to say...”

Julian stared at his hands and shook his head slightly. Miles made to reach out to him, but thankfully stopped himself. They sat in silence for a bit. Julian was torn now. Miles had promised he wouldn't leave and he wasn't and some part of Julian was glad for that, but there was another part that was just embarrassed and wished it would all end.

This was one more humiliation after the last few months of awfulness, reminding him over and over again that it had all really happened when he'd been trying so hard not to think about it: the capture, the cell, the being herded around like cattle, the being constantly watched and prodded and insulted, patching up the latest victim of the Jem Haddar fighting ring or declaring them dead, keeping it together all the way like he was expected to, Garak... he hadn't even processed Tain being Garak's father, everything he'd learnt about him there... and it was all so _stupid._ Because he wasn't even crying because he'd been a prisoner of war, not really. Or, he didn't know. “I just...” he said, surprising himself and still not looking at Miles. “I just... it wasn't that bad,” he ended. That was wrong. That wasn't what he'd wanted to say.

“What do you mean?” asked Miles.

Julian shrugged. “Lots of people get captured.”

“Doesn't mean it's not bad,” said Miles. “Doesn't mean it didn't affect you.”

“But I'm better than them,” he said, again, unsure of why he'd said it, but feeling like this was true. “I'm. I'm _better._ I'm an augment. I can handle more than... I should be able to... I don't know... I don't know...” he could feel himself withdrawing again, so stopped. “Pathetic,” he mumbled to himself.

Miles suddenly grabbed his hand and Julian jerked up to finally look at him, still feeling too raw to the touch and wanting to escape. The wall prevented him. “Now you listen here, Doctor Julian Bashir,” growled Miles, “you might've had someone tamper with you against your will, but that doesn't make you less human. It _doesn't._ And humans – people – don't do well in captivity. It's not pathetic, it's just how it is. And you'd say the same thing to any one of your patients who was saying what you're saying right now. Maybe in a better way,” he added as an afterthought. “You're better with patients than me. Better with _me_ than me for that matter.”

He wasn't sure what to do with that information. “It's all... a lot. I wish my parents hadn't come,” he said. “I wish... wish they hadn't...”

“Yeah, they seem a right pair of assholes,” said Miles. “Pardon my Cardassian.”

“Not sure if Cardassian insults sound like that.”

“Well, you ask Garak. He'll probably not give you a straight answer, but you can ask.”

Julian almost smiled at that. But Miles' hand was still touching his hand and he wasn't sure if he was ready for that amount of contact. Asking him to stop seemed ungrateful now, but it prickled. He let it stay. He had a sense that ordinary people wanted other people to hold their hands when they were upset. He hoped Miles wouldn't try to hug him, that would be too difficult to respond correctly to.

“Julian...?”

Oh, he'd been quiet for too long, hadn't he. It was harder for him to follow the correct script when he was like this. He was meant to answer what Miles had said... something about Garak. “Yes,” he said, hoping it was correct.

“Do you want me to stop touching you?”

“Why... are you asking?”

Miles smiled softly, a nice expression on a face not used to wearing it. “You keep looking at my hand. I can stop.” He raised it slightly. When Julian didn't protest he pulled it away entirely. “You can tell people when you need something. You know that?” He said the last bit with enough worry for Julian to catch it.

“Mmm,” he said, non-committally.

“Do you?”

He wanted to change the subject, but he had a feeling anything he said would be a disaster. He spoke anyway. “I'm. A doctor. That's what I have to offer. As long as I can do a good job, and be useful, that's... good. As soon as I can't, if I'm like _this..._ I'm... replaceable.”

“That's not- hold on, is this about the changeling?”

“It's... no. Yes. No. It's... everything. It's stupid.”

“It's not-”

“Why are you helping me?”

Miles looked at him like he'd said something crazy. He'd clearly made a mistake again, his mind jumping between subjects and conclusions like always, but this time they were all things he didn't want to say out loud and couldn't stop himself saying. But he wanted to know and it was too late now to take it back. He breathed, forcing himself not to look away. It wasn't as horrible as the hand, but it wasn't easy. He needed Miles to know that he was being serious.

“Julian, are you... you saved my life! And it wasn't because someone asked me to put the phaser down and it just happened to be you. It was because _you_ asked me. You're my best friend. The first person I ever... talked about any of this stuff with. Not even Keiko... I put her through so much, but you somehow made me talk. You bring out the best in me. You do that, Julian. You bring out the best in... in, well, lots of people.”

“... Right.”

“... Right?”

“Yes.” Julian nodded. “Yes, that's... good, thank you.” He shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Exhaled. Breathed in. Exhaled. Continued to breathe. It felt like he hadn't breathed in hours and finally, properly breathing expelled most of the vestige of weirdness that had been lodged inside him. It would be back, in some form or other, when the emotions became too much to keep inside again. He knew that was just part of the package. Maybe his friends were okay with it. Maybe he'd be okay with it too, someday.

"I'm okay now," he said, opening his eyes again and finding he could look at Miles without it hurting. "Thank you."

“Thank you?” spluttered Miles. “I give the best speech of my life and all I get is a 'thank you?!'” He scoffed. “Wish I'd recorded it for posterity, you're never getting that much sense outta me again,” he wagged his finger at him as he spoke.

Julian huffed out another breath, this time tinged with laughter. “Don't worry, Chief Engineer Miles O'Brien.” He tapped his head. “Super brain.” He unfolded himself and stood, finding it to be easier than he had expected.

Miles followed suit, taking Julian's offered arm of support. “Oh yeah, what'd I say?”

“Repeating it would ruin its integrity. You'll just have to take my word for it that I remember.”

“You're a terrible liar Doctor Bashir.”

“Not as terrible as your tennis-”

“- I _demand_ another rematch -”

“- as many as you want...”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you remember that Miles has seen some shit and really didn't deal with it for the longest time, huh...


End file.
